


Super Kitty in a Corner

by UniCorny_CuteandShorty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), M/M, More Slice-of-Lifey, Not really a "Superhero" story, Nothing more exciting than KISSING, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Superpowers AU, Various Untagged Sidepairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniCorny_CuteandShorty/pseuds/UniCorny_CuteandShorty
Summary: Kenma wish he had known that after getting superpowers, things get really boring. Luckily, a waiter at a cat cafe is interesting enough to catch his attention.





	1. Kitty Corner Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Okaysha for helping me edit.

The new cat at the Kitty Corner cat cafe and arcade lounge, Snackpack, was a creature of great beauty. It was a giant floofy grey cat with a squashed face—the kind that made it look like it belonged on a supervillain’s lap, lounging while being idly stroked.

Kenma had been staring at it for a while now, willing it to come over onto his lap. Sadly, this mental strategy was apparently not working. Kenma really wanted to get his hands in that floof—so he finally gathered the willpower to move from his favorite spot, a worn, plush red loveseat, and silently moved over to the couch were Snackpack was perched. Its perfectly ugly head raised at Kenma’s approach. Hissing, it plopped onto the floor with a heavy thud, skittering across the floor, and jumped to the refuge of a high windowsill where it settled its chubby body down into a secure loaf, glaring down at the customers in reproach.

Kenma returned to his favorite spot in dejected shame, slumping back into the lumpy cushions, defeated. He liked cats. He was a big fan, though most cats he met ran away before he could pet them.   He liked going to the Kitty Corner—because the cats were all pretty sociable and usually came up to him on their own. The cafe section also had retro arcade machines free to play (they earned their money charging visitors by the hour instead). There were plenty of reasons why Kenma came here time and time again.  

The door to the cat area opened with a bell. Kenma froze when he heard the voice of his favorite server.   

“Oh, Kenma, you're in today—so lucky! Have you met our new employee yet?”

Kenma looked up from his spot at Shouyou, who was carefully setting down a heavily loaded tea tray onto a cart.  

“I tried.  He ran away.”  

“Oh, that wasn’t very professional of him,” said Shouyou with a smile, “Let me grab him so he can say hi.”  

“That’s ok, no need to bother him. He’s probably had a long day.”

“Nonsense,” said Shouyou, walking over to the window where Snackpack was perched. “Greeting customers is his job. He can handle a little more attention, it’s not closing time yet.”

Kenma's eyes followed Shouyou across the room. If he’d been forced put on the Kitty Corner employee outfit, Kenma was certain he’d only feel shamed as a human being. However, Shouyou managed to wear the look well. The neon orange apron kinda matched his hair, so the color didn’t look out of place on him. Even the stupid cat ear headband didn’t look stupid when Shouyou was the one wearing it.  Well, it was a _little_ silly. But not in a bad way.  

“Snackpack, come down now and be social,” Shouyou lectured, reaching his arms out.

Snackpack let out an angry _“mrff!”_ sound from his perch, but turned to jump into Shouyou’s arms.

Shouyou walked back to Kenma.  “Scoot over, imma sit.” Kenma leaned to one side of the loveseat.  Shouyou fell back into the seat with a plop, cradling Snackpack. “Come on, pet him. He's gotta earn his keep.”

Snackpack flinched when Kenma raised his hands toward it, but didn’t try to run away.  It looked _very_ displeased with its current circumstances.  Kenma, not wanting to push it, deliCATely patted it twice on the head, then withdrew his hand.  Its tail swished back and forth in contempt.

Kenma needed a pic of this bewitching creature.  He took out his phone.

“Oo, do you wanna take a selfie with Snackpack?” Shouyou asked.

“No. Too dangerous. Just want a picture.”

“Oh, cute, I wanna be in the picture!” Shouyou hoisted Snackpack in his lap so it was balanced on its back legs, holding its chin up while, smooshing his cheek against the grumpy cat’s face. Kenma had suspicions that Shouyou had some kind of animal whispering ability because he was always able to maneuver the cats into all sorts of silly poses for pictures with the customers, and Kenma had never seen so much as a scratch on Shouyou _nor_ seen any cat attempt to escape.

“Say _‘Meow!_ ’” said Hinata in sing-song, waving one of Snackpack’s paws through the air.

Kenma snapped the picture. If he had to describe to the expression on Snackpack’s kitty face, it would be...resigned complacency.  

Shouyou released the cat, who remained perched in his lap.

“Why don't you sit on the customer's lap, Snackpack, you can sit on my lap anytime you want.” Shouyou gingerly picked it up and plopped it on Kenma's lap. Snackpack immediately took off, back claws briefly digging into Kenma’s lap at it jumped, hissing and skidding across the floor to hide under one of the couches.

“Huh. I don't know what's wrong with him today! He's been able to handle customers all day without getting fussy so far—I really need have a talk with his manager,” Shouyou joked.

Kenma scrolled his photo roll. With Snackpack, he now had a picture of every cat employee at the Cafe. He felt the same satisfaction as he did earning a completionist trophy.

“Need any snacks, Kenma?” asked Shouyou.

Kenma locked his phone. “No, I'm not hungry. But, do you want to play a game with me when you can?”

“Sure! Though, I probably shouldn’t until my shift is over in an hour. The manager scolded me for taking too much time out playing games with you when you’re here.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I can wait.”

“Are you ok with being charged for another hour?”

“Whatever.”

Kenma went back to his phone, lifting his feet onto the loveseat, curling up into a ball, as he settled down to wait for an hour. One of the other cat hosts, a black calico name Chocolate Tango, was kind enough to jump up and settle by his feet for company.

Kenma's phone buzzed. Someone sent him a photo.

It was a picture of Kenma and Chocolate Tango cuddling in the loveseat, taken at an angle very high up and far away through the wide windows of the cat area.

I SEE YOU.

Kenma sighed and texted a reply.

_Go away._

The phone buzzed again. This time it came with a picture from a few minutes ago, when Kenma, Shouyou, and Snackpack were sharing the loveseat.

WHO'S THIS?

_A grey cat and an orange waiter._

ASK HIM OUT. THE WAITER.

_No._

Another picture was sent. This time, it was a zoomed in picture of Shouyou’s face.  

I CAN KILL HIM WHERE HE STANDS.

Kenma sat up carefully, trying not to jostle Chocolate Tango.  

ASK HIM OUT NOW, OR HE DIES.

A crack sounded in the room, followed by a surprised _“gwah!”,_ and the soft pattering of startled cats as they darted across the room. Kenma looked over, mildly interested. A teacup on a tray Shouyou had carried had shattered, causing hot tea to run down and into Shouyou's sleeve.

“Dang it— _Sorry_ , there must have been a crack in it, it just fell apart!” Shouyou explained to a couple he was serving.

Kenma scratched Chocolate Tango’s cheek and texted back a reply.

_Go home. You're scaring the cats._

I MEAN IT ASK HIM OUT.

Another loud crack filled the room.

“Gwah! This one broke too! I-I don't know what's happening!”

_This is none of your business._

DISAPPOINTING, DISAPPOINTING. I'LL BE WATCHING.

_Don't be weird._

**

Kenma woke up to someone lightly shaking his shoulder.  

“Kenma, sorry, but I have to wake you up now, we close in a couple minutes.”

Kenma groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. The sun was down. He must have dozed off while listening to Chocolate Tango’s purring. He stretched. _Ow._ Great, now his back hurt too.

He looked up at Shouyou. “You said we could play games later.”

Shouou looked apologetic.  “I know, I know, I’m sorry... But we had a bunch of customers—max capacity—come in the last hour when I was supposed to get off, and everyone was ordering _food_ , so my replacement asked me to _stay_ , then you were _asleep_ , then the Manager pulled me away for a second to yell at me for breaking the expensive _tea sets_ , and then it was closing time before I could breathe.”

“Oh.”  Kenma wiped at his eyes, then stood up and fished out his credit card. “Here.”

Shouyou disappeared for a second.  Kenma stretched, then glanced outside the window.

His phone buzzed.  

STILL HERE, DON’T WORRY SLEEPY.

Shouyou came back and Kenma quickly hid his phone screen.

“I’m really sorry we didn’t get to play anything,” said Shouyou, eyes big.

Kenma looked away. “It’s ok. Maybe next time.”

Kenma’s phone buzzed again. “Hang on.” He turned his back to Shouyou.

ASK HIM OUT ALREADY

Kenma rolled his eyes.

_Stop telling me to do things or I won't want to do them._

FINE. DON'T ASK HIM OUT. DON'T ASK HIM OUT RIGHT NOW.

_Go home. Get a life._

Kenma jumped a little when he felt Shouyou’s hand on his shoulder.  He turned back around.

“Hey Kenma, can I see your phone?”

Kenma quickly locked his phone and put it into his hoodie pocket “No.” Glancing at Shouyou's surprised face, he quickly mumbled, “Uh, I use this phone for work stuff, and it’s company policy you can't let anybody else use your phone. For privacy reasons.”

“Oh.” Shouyou took out his phone from his apron pocket, scrolling through it briefly and typing in a few characters before he held it out to Kenma.  “Here.”

Kenma made a confused face, but took it. The screen showed a contact page with the name _kenma!!_ and a blank space for the phone number.

“Wanna give me your number?”

Kenma tilted his head. “Why?”

Shouou averted his eyes and scuffed the floor with his foot.  “Uh, well, I was _thinking..._ you always want to play games with me, but we've only played while I was working. So, maybe, we could meet up at some other place to, I don’t know, _hang out?_ ”

“Hm.” Kenma typed his number in and gave the phone back.

Shouyou looked down at his phone for a second, then put it back into his pocket before returning his attention to Kenma. “So, uh, _did_ you want to do something this weekend or . . . ?”

Kenma ran his fingers through his bangs. “I don't really like to go out much anymore.”

Shouyou's face fell. “Oh.”

Kenma's mouth twitched. “But maybe . . .”

“Maybe?” Shouyou echoed.

"Maybe instead of me going out . . . you could come over," Kenma mused to himself. He rose he voice to speak clearly to Shouyou. "You should come over to my house. We can play games there. I have . . . lots."

Shouyou bounced on his heels. “Really? Yeah! I'd like to see your place. Sure! I'll come over."

Kenma hid his gaze on the floor.

“Mm, yeah. So, just let me know when you want to meet. I work from home, so I can set aside the time whenever.”

“Yeah! I can't wait!”

**

Kenma's phone buzzed as he approached his apartment door.

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU.

Kenma made an unpleasant face at his phone. He pushed the previously locked, but now miraculously unlocked door open. The lights were off, save the light coming from the television.

Kuroo lounged across the sofa with the air of someone who owned the place, lazily eating Kenma's leftover takeout. He was still dressed in his vigilante outfit, minus the black helmet that was resting on the coffee table. Kenma quickly closed the door, keeping the lights off.

“Put some real clothes on. Someone might see you.”

“ _Relax._ Nobody can see me, I’m a creature of the night.” Kuroo sat up and muted the TV. His face turned into a grin, crossing his legs as he stretched his arms up and draped them across the back of the couch.

“Sooo . . . You got a _hot date?”_

Kenma scowled, kicking his shoes off. “I don't see why you feel the need to follow me around whenever I leave my house. I don't need you breathing down my neck all the time.

Kuroo uncrossed his legs, then crossed them back in the opposite direction.  

“You've finally started leaving your depressing cave... Can’t blame your best friend when he just wants to know what you've been up to! And I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a cruel friend who keeps me out of the loop.”

“Stop making me sound like an ogre. I've been _fine._ I just don't have any reason to leave the house anymore...”

“Except for that cat waiter boy-o, eh?”

Kenma wasn’t looking at Kuroo’s face right now, but he could tell from the tone of his voice that he was making an insufferable one.  Kenma grabbed an iced coffee from the fridge and slammed the door shut with unnecessary force.

“Hey, that cat cafe is great. Most of the cats don't run away from me, it never gets too full or noisy because they limit how many customers they can have at one time, unlimited snacks are included in the hourly fee, you don't have to buy tokens to play the arcade games there, and they play nice soothing jazz all the time.”

“And they have cute waitstaff,” Kuroo added, smugly.

Kenma didn't have a comeback so he took a sip of coffee and glared at Kuroo.

Kuroo sprang to his feet. “Give me the _deets._ You asked him out, right? I saw you give him your num- _ber._ ”

Kenma quickly downed his drink, coughed a fit because he drank it too fast, then threw the can at Kuroo's head.

The can split in two before it hit its target, the half pieces flying past to miss Kuroo’s face and fall softly on the white carpet.  

“Stop budging into my personal life! It's creepy, with you watching.”

“I was just there to offer emotional support,” said Kuroo innocently, batting his eyelashes. “I _promise_ I won't spy on your actual date. I would never intrude on the intimacy of young lovers.”

“It's not a romantic date,” Kenma insisted. “He just wants to meet up and play video games.”

“Oho, but it’s a date nonetheless! You _did_ ask him out—I'm so proud of you! Usually, it's hard to get you to do anything.”

“He asked _me_ out,” Kenma grumbled.

“Awww, that means he _likes_ you,” sang Kuroo, walking over to Kenma and giving him a light punch on his side. “That's our Kenma. Sauve and _so_ silky smooth. No catboy can resist _this_ Kitty.”

“I don't think he meant it _romantically_. He just wants to play games, that’s it.”

“Don't sell yourself short, shorty,” said Kuroo, tousling Kenma's hair with his gloved hands. “Sounds romantic enough to me.”

“You just want it to be romantic,” Kenma accused. “We're just friends.”

“I bet he meant it romantically.”

“I bet he didn't.”

“You could text and ask him if he meant it romantically.”

Kenma stared up into Kuroo's stupid face.

“ _No.”_

“I was watching you two. Your body language was speaking flirty.”

Kenma shrugged. “You were just projecting. Voyeur.”

“What's the plan for the hot date, anyway?” asked Kuroo, examining his nails.

“He's coming over here.”

"OooOoo," said Kuroo, covering his mouth with his hand like a 12-year-old girl who had just learned a juicy piece of gossip. "First date, and he already gets to see where you live? How forward of you, Kenma." 

Kenma was getting a little sick of the teasing. He tried to stomp down on Kuroo's foot, but Kuroo backed off in time, grinning coyly. 

“Stop bothering me about him already! I'm just trying to live my life—Don't you have some disreputable things to be doing right now?”

Kuroo winked at him and clicked his tongue. His grin shifted to a slightly more serious expression. In all seriousness, you ran a background check on him, right? Is he clear?”

Kenma flopped down on the couch back-first, grabbing Kuroo’s stupid cat-eared helmet and cradling it to his stomach.

“Hinata Shouyou. Age 22. Moved from Miyagi to Tokyo for a degree in Human Services. Currently a 4th Year with barely passing grades. Works part-time at Kitty Corner. Played soccer in High School. Has a mother and little sister that live in Miyagi. Father works overseas. Interests include sports and video games. Best friends with 4th year art student, Yachi Hitoka, who attended the same high school as him. Currently—” Kenma looked away from Kuroo and lowered his voice,“—single.”

“Oh good, you cleared him already.  Stalker.”

Kenma shrugged. “He told me everything himself. Although, I independently verified it. He's got nothing to hide. He's just a normal person.”

Kuroo took his helmet back from Kenma’s hold. “Well, he sounds perfect for you and I'm glad you made a new friend. I'm very proud.”

“You sound like Yaku.”

“Well, we all just want to make sure our Mastermind is doing ok.”

“I'm not the Mastermind anymore. You could stand to give me some space.”

Kuroo turned on the voice modification in his mask. A cutesy, distorted voice suddenly spoke up, “But we're your best-est friends and we love you very much so of _course_ we want to know what Kenma is up to!   _Anyway,_ Fukunaga was gonna steal some shit tonight—that kleptomaniac— and I'm gonna go hang around that area in case he gets in trouble.”

“Yeah. _Go away.”_

Kuroo walked to the nearest window, opening it. “Have fun on your date! I promise I WON’T be watching.” He slipped through the window and disappeared.

Kenma looked at the empty food containers Kuroo left. That was supposed to be his dinner tonight. Guess he was gonna to be hungry for now. He didn't have the emotional energy to order food and talk to the delivery person right now.

Kenma grabbed the remote and turned the mute off.

_“Good evening ladies and gentleman, here we are live at the Museum of Natural History, where elusive thief Ghost Cat announced their plans to--”_

Kenma sighed and put the mute back on. He took out his phone, beginning to go through his pictures, absently scrolling through his cat photo library. He’d developed the habit of looking at his cat collection when he was bored.

His phone buzzed.

Kenma frowned. Kuroo didn't usually text during missions unless something was going _really_ wrong...

_Oh._ It wasn't Kuroo.

_hello!! hi kenma!! I checked my schedule and we can hang out next friday evening! If that's ok with you!!_

Kenma started at the message. He was tempted to say “no,” because if Shouyou came over, that meant he'd have to clean his apartment, hide a bunch of stuff— _which was a pain in the ass_ —and then he’d have to deal with Kuroo asking pain in the ass questions. _Stupid Kuroo._

_kenma? are you there? did you give me the wrong number?_

Kenma wanted to reply “I'm really sorry, I'm busy,” but he already told Shouyou he worked at home and set his own schedule—If he said he was too busy now, he'd sound flaky.

_No, it's me. I didn't give you the wrong number._

_but how do I know you're the_ _real_ _kenma?”_

_I suppose you have no way of knowing if I’m this “Kenma” you’re speaking of.  But, I, whoever I am, I am free this Friday. And I can give you my address. Perhaps it’s Kenma’s address.  And then you’ll show up at a strange apartment you’ve never been to before, and see this “Kenma.” Or maybe someone who isn’t Kenma will be waiting for you instead._

_ahh!!! i know you are joking but now i’m kinda scared so i want to know for sure you're kenma._

_Well maybe I want to know for sure you’re Shouyou,_ Kenma replied, though he knew it was Shouyou. He had known Shouyou’s phone number long before Shouyou had given it to him.  

_Bzzt_. Shouyou sent a picture. It was a peace sign selfie. Kenma could make out a table behind him with books and snacks and someone's hand poking out of a pink sweater, the rest of their body blocked by Shouyou's face.

_here's a selfie so you know it's me!! now you send me a picture so I know it's you because i'm still kind of scared!! (that's yacchan's hand in the background btw)_

Kenma switched to his phone camera. Staring into his own face, Kenma looked terrible. He snapped a picture. Kenma didn't know what he was expecting. He still looked terrible. His hair looked stringy and greasy, he practically glowed an eerie pale, and the bags under his eyes made his eyes look sunken.

He took another picture with the flash on. God, how could it look even worse?

Kenma took a trip to the bathroom and flipped on the switch. Staring into the mirror, he appreciated that the yellowed light at least gave him some color. Still looked terrible though—only more yellow.

He grabbed a ponytail and pulled his hair back (so the grossness was less noticeable) and put on his glasses.  A little better. He snapped a few selfies from different angles and, deciding he liked the one he took from one of the angles above his head, he sent his reply via photo.

_wow, I didn't know you wore glasses! you look so cute!_

The word “cute” echoed in Kenma's head. Cute. Shouyou thought he looked cute. Did he mean that in, like, a flirty way? Or was it just a neutral compliment? Guys can just complement each other, after all. It was pretty normal. Or so he thought. Kenma had the same group of friends since high school and hadn't bothered making any more, so times could have changed? Kuroo called people “cute,” but in a condescending way. Lev _sincerely_ called people cute, but it still came off as condescending, since he was so freakishly tall. _Yaku_ called people cute sometimes.

_Ugh, he should_ just take the compliment.

_Thanks. Though I don't have a prescription. I wear these when I need to see small details up close, like if I'm messing with electronics or something._

_cool!! you're so smart!!_

Kenma didn't know what to do with all these compliments. Should he say something nice back? What could he say that wouldn't sound weird?

_You're friendly._ Too general. _I like your face._ Weirdo territory. _You have so much enthusiasm it kind of freaks me out, but I like that about you._ Too long-winded. _I know a lot of tall people, and being around a shorter person helps my self-esteem._ No, that was more of an insult. _I feel comfortable around you._ Meh... But he had to respond with _something._

_Thanks._

Lame. Lame, lame, super lame. He couldn’t end it at that.

_So, what are you up too?_

_i'm sort of studying with yacchan._

_Sort of?_

_well, yacchan was super helpful when we were doing general courses, but now we're too far along in our different degrees and we're not in the same classes anymore so we can't help each other out so much._

_and by “each other” i mean yachi mostly helps me._

_im not very useful to her :( we're basically just hanging out and eating snacks right now._

Kenma pursed his lips.

_I could maybe help you out._

_really??!! are you familiar with human services??_

_Not really. But I could maybe look at your written assignments and give you some feedback._

_are you sure??!!!_

_Yeah. My friends always asked me to look at their papers and stuff, even though we all took different majors.  I can look at yours too._

_you're so amazing!!_

Kenma frowned at his phone. Shouyou needed to stop giving so many compliments. He couldn’t figure out how to respond.

_Thanks._

Ugh, why was that his only response? And why was texting Shouyou harder than talking to him in person? Kenma was stuck feeling awkward now. He needed to end this social interaction right _now._ Before it could get worse.

_Anyway, I'm kind of tired. I'm gonna go to bed._

The _“I'm too tired”_ excuse. Kenma was ashamed he had to use such a cliche response.

_ok! have a good night!_

Kenma set his phone down on the bathroom counter. _Calm down._ He splashed some water on his face. _That conversation wasn't that strange. It was a normal interaction. Don't overthink it._

His phone buzzed once more.

_i can't wait to see you next week!!_

_Thanks._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaku comes over, then date night.

Kuroo and Kenma were riding the bus home from volleyball practice. The sun had nearly set and the sky was hazy. Kuroo was lying with his head reclined on top of the bus seat. He was awake, resting with his eyes closed, long legs stretched across the aisle. 

Kenma was tired and sweaty and was currently losing a boss fight. 

All HARD CORE gamers lost a fight or two, and Kenma was not a stranger to the cycle of losing and losing and losing and restarting and LOSING a boss fight, but right now he felt like a _loser._

It was a summer evening. The air, hot and humid, smelled like bus exhaust, and his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat leftover from practice. He was sore everywhere, and the bus ride felt longer than it usually did, and it was too quiet. He was _bored,_ and he couldn’t clear this level.

His fingers fucked up. The 8bit death bells chimed, and Kenma’s console fell limply onto his lap.

“I can’t see you, but somehow I can tell you’re making a grumpy face right now,” said Kuroo, eyes closed, unmoving from his resting position.

Kenma want to kick, or maybe jab him in the side, but he didn’t have the strength to move at all.

His face soured in frustration. He closed his eyes to shut out—just— _everything_ , but the restless buzz in the air prevented him from being able to nap. 

He opened his eyes, just a bit, and breathed in the bus-flavored air, exhaling slowly. Ugh, he was bored. He had been fighting the boss for so long it wasn’t fun, it was a _chore._ However, he had nothing else to do to entertain himself. Kenma hit resume.

Tired of feeling bored, he pushed back how itchy and restless he was, along with how tired and sore he felt and even zeroed out on Kuroo’s presence next to him. 

Parry, attack, dodge, _hold!_ dodge the boss’s lighting move, _fuck,_  too slow. Dead. Kenma felt rising frustration in his chest, but he stopped it. He didn’t want to keep feeling frustrated, and sweaty, and _icky._  He made himself feel absolutely nothing—he wasn’t gonna let a video game rule his mood anymore. 

Resume. 

Attack—whoops, too quick, DEAD. 

Mounting frustration bubbled again, but he pushed it back down until he felt nothing. Resume. Parry, jump, jump, attack, _miss,_ Lose. 

Again.

Resume, jump, jump, attack—He was farther into the battle than he had ever reached, and could feel eager excitement rising, but he pushed those feelings down as well. He felt Nothing, and he kept attacking. The sound of bells rang, but they were not the death chimes. The screen shook, and there was a new cutscene—Ah, he must have won just now. 

Time 2:50, rank B.

The tension in the air and the weight of his body disappeared. He felt—awake. Awakened? It was—he felt—offsomehow. Like reality had suddenly shifted. felt He set the console onto his lap gently. The air was fresher. The bus lights were brighter, and he swore he could see clearer. Sharper. Why? 

He twitched his fingers, staring at them. He had been playing for a bit now, but he didn’t feel the creeping of a hand cramp from holding his console in the same position for a long time.

Out of curiosity, he soft-reset the game, so he could redo the fight again. He normally wasn’t the type of player to go back and redo stages until he got the best ranking. That kind of play didn’t offer much stimulation, and he didn’t see the point. He put down games after he cleared them and never looked back. But right now, he felt—

He entered the fight, and it was like his fingers were moving independently from thought. It didn’t even feel like he was _thinking_ —he thought, he was just—responding. Ah, he was already done. That didn’t even seem like— _anything._

Time: 0:48. Rank: S.

Huh.

He closed his game, and shakily exhaled, slowly taking in his surroundings. He could see so clearly. Why was it—why did he _feel_ so light? He looked to the front of the bus, eyes catching the reflection of the overhead rear mirror. Two seats behind him, an old man reading a newspaper caught his eye. There was a photo of a person standing amidst smoking rubble, features shadowed out. The headline: MORE REPORTED SIGHTINGS OF PEOPLE WITH ALLEGED “SUPERPOWERS.”

Again, Kenma felt something click. He slid his game into his hoodie pocket, carefully examining his hands, turning his palms up and flexing his fingers.

“Kuroo—I think I won,” said Kenma softly.

“Don’t you mean you ‘cleared the level?’” Kuro murmured back sleepily. Kenma didn’t answer.

*****

Kenma awoke to the sound of someone ringing the buzzer. Kenma grimaced and grabbed his phone. 11:30AM. Why was someone bothering him this early? Kenma pulled up the footage from his security camera on his phone app—an app he had made himself—to check the door. Of course it was Yaku at this hour. Yaku, who never bothered to text before he came over.

Well, at least he didn’t have to change out of his pajamas.

Yaku burst into the apartment carrying a bag of groceries. He looked like he had just finished his morning work-out, dressed in a white tracksuit with big red headphones around his neck.

Yaku was a close, lifelong friend, but Kenma could stand to see him less. He’d come over maybe once or twice a week and ask a bunch of nosey questions, _“Hey, are you doing OK?” “Hey, want to join my morning jogs?” “Have you been eating between your work sessions? I know you sometimes forget to eat if you’re on a roll._

 “Good morning, heard your fridge was empty,” Yaku greeted as he walked to the counter. “Hey Kenma, did you know that humans need to eat food, like, regularly? How come whenever I come over your fridge is empty?”

Kenma made a scrunched face. “You don’t have to keep shaming me for my lifestyle habits. I’m a CEO, you know.”

Yaku pulled a bowl from the cabinet and dumped a bag of oranges into it, setting on the kitchen tabletop. “If you’re a CEO, how come you never go to your own damn office?”

“I go there sometimes.”

“Shibayama says he hasn’t seen you in the building in over a month.”

“Shibayama has it covered.”

“You really should at least check in once in a while.”

“I work from home. It’s economical. Saves the environment.”

Kenma clasped his hand over his forehead. Ugghhh he was getting a headache. Of the headaches you could get, the “I slept for too long” headache was the worst. Sleeping was supposed to be good for you, but sometimes if you got too much your head would be like _uh you got too much sleep, it feels wrong? Here, have some free pain._

Yaku noticed and came over right away, speaking in his concerned Yaku voice. “Oh, are you OK? Do you have a headache? Here, sit.” He motioned them over to the couch to sit down, moving Kenma’s hand away and firmly pressing his own palm over Kenma’s forehead. 

Yaku took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and suddenly Kenma felt all better. It was a sea of tranquility. The tightness in his head eased away into a dull thrum of serene nothingness. A chill of energy buzzed through his core. He felt like jelly, but like, happy jelly. Ah. Yes. This was the reason he let Yaku into his house. Psychic headache easement. 

Kenma leaned onto Yaku until his upper half fell, splaying across Yaku’s lap. Kenma mumbled in discontent when Yaku pulled his hand away. He rolled over so he was laying on his back, peering up at Yaku. 

Kenma grabbed Yaku’s hand and placed it back on his forehead. “Not done yet.”

“Ok, fine, you _baby,_ ” said Yaku, and the sea of serenity returned. They sat like that for a few minutes until Yaku cut him off.

Yaku looked down concernedly at Kenma. “Honestly, are OK? I know you get bored a lot, because you can’t find something that turns your little gears up here” he patted Kenma head gently a few times, “and then you get mopey.”

Kenma stared up neutrally. “I mean, I've always been that way.”

“Yeah, but I feel you used to be faster at picking new things to keep you occupied before you burned out.”

“I’ve done _all_ the things now.”

“Surely not _everything_ ,” said Yaku.

Kenma shrugged, shifting a little, back starting to hurt on Yaku’s knees were pressing into him. “Everything. Coding. Micro Engineering. System Programming. Judo. Chemistry. And even then—learning new skills because they’d be useful for the group, it’s not _fun,_ it’s not like fighting a boss, clearing a stage, it’s just doing practical, monotonous BORING skills.

Yaku let Kenma vent until he was quiet, then patted him on the head and maneuvered away from him. “I’m going to make tea.”

Yaku clinked around in the kitchen for a few minutes until he came back with twos cup of calming chamomile tea. 

Kenma looked up and caught a devious look pass over Yaku’s face before his expression became nonchalant. 

“Soo . . .” Yaku stirred his teaspoon into his cup, “Kuroo mentioned something about . . . I don’t know, you having some sort of meeting with a nice young man who works at that cat cafe you go to all the time?” 

Kenma frowned at him. Ah. This was the real reason Yaku came over. To talk about _that._

“Hm. Sounds right,” said Kenma, not feeding Yaku any more detail

Yaku took a sip. “Care to elaborate? Why don’t you tell me more about this new friend you are making plans with?”

Kenma took one of Yaku’s hands and put in back on his forehead. 

“You’re a psychic. Just read my mind.”

Yaku took his hand back. “That’s a little invasive, and you know I would prefer it if you told me things with your own words.”

“I don’t care if you read my mind,” said Kenma. He really _didn’t_ care if Yaku read his mind and learned all his secrets. For some reason, Kenma had always been able to talk about personal things with Yaku more comfortably than he could with Kuroo. Kuroo was the type to poke and tease about certain topics that maybe Kenma didn’t feel like talking about all the time. Yaku was fully capable of carrying out a proper conversation without any teasing or unnecessary prodding. Yaku also probably knew everybody’s deep dark secrets already anyways, but he took it upon himself to not be a gossip with the things he knew. 

“I would like to have a nice talk with my dear friend Kenma about the things he is doing and the people he is seeing.”

Kenma gave in. “Fine. It’s not a long story. A waiter at that one place I like—he’s really good with cats—we play arcade games together sometimes—he’s not as good at games as he is with cats—asked if we could maybe go play games outside of his job.”

“Is that so?” said Yaku, enunciated in a way that sounded like he wanted more information. “And where are you going to play games?” askedYaku, feigning ignorance, because Kenma knew Kuroo probably had already told Yaku everything little detail already.

“. . . I said we could go to my place,” said Kenma, playing along.

“Your place? This place we are in currently. Hm, I suppose the regular arcades all have a rather busy, noisy environment. I can see why you would ask him over here instead. It is a much more quiet here. More . . . _intimate,_ I suppose.”

“Uh-huh,” responded Kenma neutrally. 

Yaku took a sip of his tea, then continued his interrogation. 

“So you and this young man—”

“Shouyou”

“Shouyou. You two are . . . _friend_ s?” Yaku pressed.

“Yeah. I mean, we don’t know each other that well, but I think Shouyou would say we are friends, if he was asked.”

Yaku took another sip.

“Is Shouyou nice? Personality-wise? Demeanor?” 

“Yes.”

“Nice to _you?”_

“Nice to everyone. He’s one of those _people_ persons. He’d like anyone. He’s in customer service, and I think he actually likes it.”

“But he’s nice to you, right?” Yaku asked again, kind of sternly.

“Yeah.”

“Is he cute?” Yaku asked.

Kenma pouted a little. “I’m not the kind of person who would use the word “cute” to describe a fellow adult human.”

“But is he cute, though?”

“He looks like a person.”

Yaku rested his teacup on the saucer, shooting Kenma a reproachful look like _Oh my god, it is like I’m talking to an alien sometimes._

“Okay. Let me ask more concisely. Hmm. Words. Is he cu— . . . Is he pleasing to look at _aesthetically?”_  

Kenma shrugged. “Uh, yeah, I guess I’d say. He kind of looks like an 8bit adventurer sprite. Compact. Sturdy. Always kind of bouncing around . . . He’s got bright orange hair—I don’t even think he dyes it— and big, expressive eyes. A pretty good design, overall.”

“He’s nice to you, and you’re _friends,_ and he’s got a good design,” Yaku summarized.

“Uh-huh.”

A short stretch of calm silence passed, Yaku absently sipping his tea, before he asked, “Do you want to be more than friends with Shouyou?”

More silence. 

“I can’t tell if he would want that,” Kenma answered.

Yaku lightly flicked Kenma’s forehead. “That’s not what I asked. Do you want to be more than friends with him? Answer me.”

“I don’t know . . .” Kenma mumbled. 

Yaku flicked his forehead again, a little harder.

“Ow.”

“Yes, you do know!”

Kenma covered his eyes and forehead with the back of his hand, leaning back. “I would be OK with being more than friends,” he said.

“Are you ever going to tell him that?”

“No,” said Kenma firmly. He sat up, done with the questions. “Look. I’m not gonna sit here and speculate about what could happen between me and Shouyou. I just want to hang out with him. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Yaku held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry—I know you don’t like being put on the spot about feelings—I’m just really happy that you have a new friend! I’m so excited for you!”

“It’s not like I don’t have any friends.”

Yaku gave him a _look._

“Yeah—but I’m pretty sure you haven’t made a new friend since high school. You only hang out—and not that often might I add—with the usual group.”

“Well, our group has reasons to keep in touch besides _friendship.”_

“Yes, but we’re not talking about that!”

“I talk to people at work,” said Kenma, not really trying to defend himself.

“Do you make the effort to see those people outside of work?”

“No. Well—Shibayama . . .”

“Shibayama was already your friend!”

“I talk to people on the internet sometimes,” Kenma offered half-heartedly.

“Good for you.”

****

That night when he got home, Kenma ran to his stack of games, pulling out every reflex-based combat game he owned and jammed disc after disc into his system. His homework lay abandoned in his backpack. His parents were going to yell at him later, but right now, he didn’t care. Adrenaline was shooting through his system. No, not adrenaline, exactly. A crisp, calm, alertness. He could see and move and think so freely.

Every game, he set the difficulty to the highest level. Once he started the game sequence, memorizing the right attack combos—figuring how the AI broadcasted their attacks, getting the sense for the timing, failing a few times—eventually, he’d _click_ again he’d finish the sequence with not a single flub. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t feel tired either. He felt like a speedrunner who knew they were about to set the new world record, only he hadn’t been practicing those skills for months— _years._

His pile of games grew smaller and smaller as the night passed, eventually becoming a loose arrangement of puzzle games, story-driven games, and a couple of otome games he owned because Fukunaga would sometimes slip them wordlessly into his backpack. 

When Kenma had finished his last fighting game for the night, and THE END came, he finally fell on his back in a slump. Now the tiredness in his body had caught up to him, his mind also had a chance to wander.

_What’s happening—what HAPPENED to me._

Kenma’s eyes drifted to the leftover games he hadn’t bothered playing.

_And what now?_

***

Thoughts of how he was going to hang out with Shouyou at the end of the week kept passing though Kenma’s mind. He kept going into his Game Room to stare at his collection, vaguely thinking _Should I maybe pick out the ones we can play together?_ Then deciding he didn’t feel like it, then leave, only to come back to the same spot hours later to repeat the same exact thoughts. 

He supposed he could go to work. The physical building. Shibayama could keep him occupied with his to-do list. Yeah. Work. 

He chose to walk there today. Work was twenty minutes away by foot. He could have found a place to live closer to the office, but he worried that if he had lived really close by, people would complain about him not going to the office every day.

His keycard wouldn’t let him inside, instead beeping an angry red at him.

Kenma scowled, digging out his phone.

“Shibayama, _let me in_ ~~” he groaned.

Shibayama came down immediately to fetch him.

“Sorry—we updated our security again, and I haven’t had the chance to give you your new keycard,” Shibayama apologized.

Shibayama was in full professional business attire: navy blue suit, shiny leather shoes, and a cartoony tie with a volleyball pattern that didn’t quite match the tone of the rest of his outfit, though added some personal charm.

Kenma had left for the office in a pair of flip flops, ratty gray sweatpants, and the same T-shirt he had slept in.

“Why are you dressed up like that? We don’t have a dress code. We have a “wear whatever you want and nobody judges you or asks questions” code.”

Shibayama unconsciously adjusted his tie. “I like dressing up for work. Besides, even if _we_ have no dress code, I’m the one who does face-to-face interactions with people outside the company. I have to look good to represent the brand.”

“Oh. Thank you for your hard work, then.”

Shibayama pressed the button for the elevator. “If I knew you were coming today, I’d have put more stuff in your to-do box.”

Kenma stretched lazily and yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I think I’ll stay here for the rest of the day. Give me everything you want me to check right now, because I’m probably not going to make the trip here again anytime soon.”

Sure enough, when they reached the floor of their HQ, Shibayama dashed inside, grabbed a stack of papers on his desk, and started rattling off things quickly as he could, putting a different set of documents into Kenma’s arms with every new topic.

“Okay, we still haven’t narrowed down which artists we are going to use for _Fantastic QueStar,_ we were waiting on your input before we moved forward—”

“Mm-Hm.”

  
“And it’s about that time of year where people are asking for raises, I have the new requested budget, could you please take a look before we lock in the salaries?”

“Sure, sure.”

“And this isn’t a very pressing issue, but I think it would be nice if we could add a cafe area for the employees. I’m tired of doing coffee runs.”

Kenma waved his hand dismissively. 

“That sounds fine. Feel free to implement it yourself. I’m not the one who will be using it” he said apathetically. “Anything else?”

Shibayama’s face was getting flushed from how fast he was talking. He wiped his brow with the back of his had.

“Well, I guess Blue Royale keeps calling and asking for a personal meeting with you.”

This information made Kenma pause. 

“Blue Royale? That tech company in Miyagi? What do they want to meet about? They trying to offer us sponsorship or partnership or something?”

Shibayama shrugged. “They haven’t elaborated. I said I’d be happy to speak to a representative on your behalf, but they specifically want to speak with you, face-to-face.”

Kenma grimaced. “That sounds weird. I don’t want that. Cancel them forever.”

“I can’t _cancel_ them, but I will give a firm “no thank you.”

“Just a _no_ is fine for them.”

**

Shouyou was dressed casually, wearing a worn, tattered pale yellow hoodie with the word “ONIKU” in bold print and faded jeans.

Kenma eyed him up and down. He seemed shorter without his work uniform. Those cat ears really added some height. Kenma realized had been staring at him silently for a hot second and quickly beckoned him inside.

“Come in, I guess.”

“Wow, your apartment is so big!” marveled Shouyou. He darted into over to the windows overlooking the nightlife below. “And so high up! It’s as high as the Sky Tree!”

 _No, not even half of that,_ thought Kenma to himself, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere by saying it out loud.

Kenma noticed Shouyou was breathing quickly. “Are you ok?”

“Uh-huh! I kind of had a lot of nervous energy so I just ran up all the stairs!”

“You shouldn’t use stairs. Elevators exist. Stairs are really dangerous. They’re obsolete models, prone to crumble at any moment.”

“But stairs are so much faster than _elevators.”_

“I’m not sure if that’s right.”

“It totally is! Come on, I’ll race you. You take the elevator to the ground floor and back up, and I’ll take the stairs.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“OK. I believe you now. Stairs are faster than elevators. Now we don’t have to test the hypothesis,” Kenma conceded. 

Shouyou quietly turned in a circle, head craning to look in every direction, at everything in view.“Wow!”

Kenma blinked. “Wow, what?”

“I can’t believe I’m at your house!” 

Kenma almost couldn’t believe it either. Shouyou operated at such a high frequency that Kenma’s apartment felt charged with energy. 

Kenma stood in the doorway, unsure what to do as a host. When _his_ friends came over, they just did whatever they pleased, then left. He wasn’t sure what to do now. 

“Uh, do you have, _need_ , food? I have . . . oranges. And other stuff, probably.”

Shouyou kicked off his shoes. “Snacks later. I want a tour.” 

Kenma stared into his domicile. You could pretty much see everything from the doorway. He pointed. “There’s the kitchen, where food and other stuff is, that’s the living room, it’s next to the kitchen. There’s the closet, and there is the hallway, which leads to other rooms—um, bedroom, personal office, bathroom, and the other, smaller bathroom, othe ther bedroom, and then the Game Room.” _And the secret room,_ he added in his head.

Shouyou grabbed Kenma’s sleeve. “Don’t just tell me, you gotta show me!” He urged, bouncing on his toes. Kenma obliged as Hinata pulled him down the hallway like he was a hostage in his own house.

Kenma opened the first door. “Bathroom.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Shouyou.

_I don’t know why you are so impressed by bathrooms, but I’m not going to curb your enthusiasm._

“Is that a TV screen?” Shouyou pointed to the 50-inch monitor above the bath.

“Yeah,” said Kenma. 

“And your bath is so large! It’s like a spaceship in here,” said Shouyou in awe.

The tour continued. “Bedroom,” he gestured to his room. It was dark, but it was illuminated in blue from the large flat screen on the wall facing the bed. 

Now that he was showing his bedroom to another human, Kenma kind of wished he had picked up some of the dirty clothes off the floor. 

“Wow, what a set-up! If I had that facing me, I would never get sleep because I’d be watching TV all night!”

Shouyou suddenly dropped to his knees, and crawled on all fours to the bed, lifting the corned of the bedspread, and peering underneath the bed. A bolt of paranoia ran through Kenmas spine. What the hell was he doing? Checking for bugs? Kenma had already cleared Shouyou’s background, but Kenma was getting nervous. There were a lot of secrets in Kenma’s house. In Kenma’s _life._

“Uh, what are you doing down there?” asked Kenma, sounding lazily concerned. “There’s no TV’s under there.”

“I’m looking for your cat,” explained Shouyou. _Oh._ That made sense.

“I don’t have a cat.”

Shouyou sprang back onto his feet. “Whhaaa? I thought for sure you’d have one. You seem to like them a lot. You’re always taking pictures of them at the Cafe.”

“No. I like them, but I think I like cats more when they belong to someone else. If I don’t have to take care of it . . .” Kenma trailed off.

Shouyou pursed his lips. “I think you should get one. They’re a good companion for a homebody like you.”

 _Homebody?_ “I’ll think about it,” said Kenma, though the answer was no. There was stuff in here he didn’t want a cat getting into.

Kenma lead him out of the room. Hinata stopped by a series of small framed photos hung across the hallway at eye level. “Oh look, it’s you! Who are all these other boys?”

Kenma glanced at them. They were a series of group shots of everybody together—pictures from Tora’s wedding, Kuroo’s wedding, a couple of graduation photos, etc. “Oh. Those are my high school friends. I mean, my current friends too. We’re still pretty close. Yaku, uh, this guy,” he pointed to the correct friend, “actually was the one who hung these pictures up for me. He lives close by here. And he’s married to this guy,” Kenma traced his finger across, “Kuroo. Kuroo’s has been my friend since we were kids.”

Hinata pointed to the oldest picture, which was a picture of the volleyball club when Kenma was in his second year of high school. “Cool! I didn’t know you were in a sports club!”

“Yeah. Kuroo got me into it.”

“I like sports! I’ve never done volleyball, but maybe we can play together one day.”

“Uh,” Kenma hadn’t played that in years. “Maybe.”

“Office,” Kenma opened the door, then shut it. Shouyou gave him a quizzical look. “Sorry. I’d show you, but I’ve got company stuff in there that I am legally obligated to prevent people outside the company from seeing.”

Shouyou looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Cooooool. Are you like a spy or something?”

 _I’m more of the type the spy would be looking for._ “No. I told you, I’m a videogame designer,” said Kenma. He opened the last room. “And this is the Game Room. I’m probably in here the most, to be honest.”

In the Game Room, there was another big monitor taking up most of one of the walls, with a lot of cords and different systems tangled below it. Comfy looking chairs and several bean bags where scattered about haphazardly. On the other side of the room, there was a large computer tower and a desktop computer gaming setup with three different screens and an ergonomic keyboard that was glowing red light from the keypad.

Kenma gazed at his gaming collection longingly. “So, uh, I know you just got here, but did you want to start playing something?” Kenma asked hopefully.

“Yeah! That’s what I’m here for, anyway.” Shouyou made a show of stretching his arms and flexing his fingers. He quickly whipped of his sweater, and tossed it to the side, plopping onto one of the bean bag chairs in front of the gaming setup. “I’m going to beat you at least once tonight!” Shouyou challenged.

Kenma offered a small smile. “Give me all you got.”

****

“Ah . . . Whah! Ha! Take that, Kenma!” said Shouyou, frenetically pressing the buttons on his controller.

Shouyou’s playing style was like playing with little kid who only spammed attack after attack. He even held it like a kid, jerking it around in his hands. He had elbowed Kenma in the side several times already. Despite Shouyou’s frenetic energy, he was a little fun to play against. His fighter also wildly moved about, unpredictable enough so the Kenma couldn’t time his strikes, often missing. This round, Hinata was a little ahead, though Kenma felt assured of his victory. His play style was to slowly adapt to the controls and attacks, then go in for the kill late-game.

“Whoops!” Shouyou had somehow made his character backflip off the platform, losing the round. “Ah, I was close! Why are you so good at this, Kenma?”

“Uh, you offed yourself just there, and this is also the first time I’ve played this game.”

“What? Really? No way.”

“Yeah. I wanted used to start on equal footing,” said Kenma. 

“But you seemed so familiar with it,” said Shouyou.

Kenma shrugged. “I pick things up pretty quickly.”

“I’ll say. You’re like a machine at the arcade in the cafe.”

Kenma went back to the character select screen, picking a different fighter, so the moves would be somewhat unfamiliar for next round, to add to the challenge. “Playing against AIs are easy. Once you figure them out, they won’t throw you any surprises.”

Kenma glanced at Shouyou from the corner of his eye. “Playing against another person is different. Better. More . . . unpredictable. Because . . . Even if they’re losing, they can change their approach. Be different. Well, if they’re any good.”

Shouyou frowned in slight frustration. “I like games, and I don’t mind losing, because we can keep going again, but I don’t feel really good at games next to you.”

Kenma’s eyes flicked back to the screen.

“I like playing with you, though. Sometimes, I feel like you almost win.” Kenma said that as a compliment, but Shouyou’s face got a little huffy. 

“I AM gonna win one of these times, and then you’ll say _Grrr . . . I can’t believe I just lost!_ And then I’ll feel really good and smug!”

Kenma felt like he was smiling again. “I hope so.”

*******

They had been playing for over four hours, until Shouyou started yawning and Kenma stopped the games for a break. At least, Kenma hoped Shouyou wasn’t ready to go home yet.

“Whaaa-AHHHHhhNNnn,” Shoyou stretched his arms way above his head tiredly, raising his shirt, revealing a bit of midriff that Kenma found himself glancing at, then glancing away. 

“Mmm I didn’t win a single round!” said Shouyou announced matter-of-factly. “You’re not getting bored of playing against me yet, are you?”

Kenma shook his head. “Not yet.”

Shouyou rubbed his eyes, then collapsed backward onto the beanbag chair, closing his eyes. They opened after a few seconds, zeroing in on Kenma.

Kenma felt a little under pressure from Shouyou’s gaze, and the way Shouyou’s face started looking a little mischievous.

Shouyou sat back up. “Hey Kenma, what if I never beat you at a game. Would you still want to hang out with me?” 

“Hm. I think if we kept at it, you’d only improve, even if you never won, at least it would still be a challenge,” Kenma answered.

Shouyou frowned as if it wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

“But what if . . . what if I got into a terrible accident, and I lost both of my hands, and I could never play a game again. Would you still hang out with me, if we couldn’t play games?”

“I don’t think that would happen,” Kenma dismissed.

“But what IF it did?” 

“I don’t find it useful to speak in hypothetical scenarios,” said Kenma.

Shouyou rolled over so his face was buried into the chair.

“GUH!” Kenma heard him exclaim into the cushion.

Shouyou got back up, then scuttled off the chair, on the floor, closer to Kenma. He fixed Kenma with a sincere look in his wide, open eyes, and Kenma felt a little nervous.

“What I mean is, do you only want to hang out with me so we can play games?”

Kenma felt a tightness clench in his chest and could feel his hands get shaky. Subconsciously, he might have inched away from Shouyou a bit.

“Well, ah, um . . . I like games a lot,” said Kenma, not answering Shouyou’s question, trying to change the subject.

“Uh-huh?” said Shouyou encouragingly, urging Kenma to explain further with the inflection in his voice, wanting an eventual answer.

“Though, well, before we started playing together, I wasn’t really having fun playing them anymore.”

“Huh.” Shouyou scrunched his brow in thought. “But you’re a videogame designer, right? You must have some sort of fun making them, right?”

Kenma felt a brief burst of pain from sitting on the floor for so long and minutely shifted his position on the floor so his legs wouldn’t fall asleep.

“Designing . . . Coding a game is different. You already know the ins and outs of the system, because you made it. It’s work, it’s not _fun._ ”

Shouyou looked at him with rapt attention.

“Why not?”

Kenma angled his head down so his bangs could obscure his face a little. “I like the challenge of a brand new experience. I can’t get that from creating a game. And even if I play new games from other creators, it’s not . . . _fun_ anymore.”

“Do you up the difficulty level?”

“Yeah, but even then.”

Shouyou’s expression looked thoughtful. “Do you like your job, Kenma?”

Kenma fidgeted in his position a bit. “I don’t dislike what I do, but I don’t get super excited about it. It’s neutral. It’s just what I do.”

Shouyou frowned. “That makes me sad.”

“What does?”

“That you’ re—how do I say it—” Shouyou gesticulated with his hands—“You’re always— _meh_ . Which isn’t bad, don’t get me wrong! But I’ve never seen you be like— _Nyeh!_ ”

Kenma titled his head. “Nyeh?”

Shouyou put his hands on his head in frustration.

“I mean, you’re normally, all the time, at _Kenma_ level. And I can tell you have a least a little fun, sometimes.”

Shouyou scooted a little closer. Kenma turned his face towards Shouyou.

“But I’d like to see what you look like when you’re having a lot of fun!” 

Kenma turned his head away so he wasn’t looking into Shouyou’s face. How did one respond to a statement like that? Kenma didn’t know, so he let out a small “ _mf”_ noise of acknowledgment. 

Shouyou kept rambling. “Let’s see . . . _I_ still have fun playing video games. Not everyone I play, but the occasional game that gets intense and exciting and makes you all ‘ _yeah!!’_ inside when you defeat a boss that’s been giving you trouble. Oh, and when I’m watching my favorite teams score, I also go _yeah!_ , but on the outside. And _being_ the one scoring is way more fun than watching someone else, though I don’t really play with a team anymore.”

Kenma wasn’t looking in Shouyou’s direction, but could feel him shuffle closer.

“ _Soooo_ , what do you like to do for _fun,_ Kenma?” Kenma could feel the lilt of Shouyou’s voice in his ear. 

Kenma racked his brain, so at least he could respond with _something,_ but didn’t think he ever matched the emotion Shouyou was describing. The evening on the bus with Kuroo came to mind, but Kenma’s powers hadn’t been new or exciting for a long time.

“Well, uh, I think I got more excited about things when I was younger, and hung out and did stuff with my close friends, but now those feelings aren’t really—there.”

“Oh?” Shouyou crawled closer, his hand coming to rest next to Kenma’s thigh, supporting his weight as he leaned towards Kenma. “Nothing else? Nothing that makes you go like _bwah!_ or makes your heart go _thom thom?_ ” Shouyou’s other hand came up to lightly hang onto Kenma’s sleeve.

Shouyou was so close, but Kenma couldn’t turn his head to look at him. 

“Isn’t there anything you like to do? Something that interests you?”

Kenma could feel Shouyou’s breath move his hair, he was so close.

“There’s gotta be at least something, right?”

Kenma shifted his body a little, controller falling out of his lap onto the carpet. He wanted to stretch his legs a little, because he felt they were going to fall asleep in this position soon, but he couldn’t move. His hand had red imprints from the carpet texture.

Kenma let out a shaky exhale. “I guess, there is something . . . _new,_ that's been on my mind lately.”

Shouyou’s hand released Kenma’s sleeve to move upwards to rest on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma could feel his hair move as the tips of Shouyou’s fingers brushed the back of Kenma’s neck.

“This _thing,_ how do you feel about it?” asked Shouyou speaking a degree quieter, due to their closeness. 

Kenma shifted his body weight, moving his hand. It unintentionally pressed down onto the top of Shouyou’s other hand, but Kenma didn’t feel like he had to move it. 

Kenma let out another shaky exhale, trying to release the tension in his body. “I’m . . . I don’t know. Curious.”

Kenma turned his face back to Shouyou, but closed his eyes tightly, knowing he’d be right in Shouyou’s face, unable to look him straight in the eyes. Shouyou’s hand at the back of his neck slid up into his hair, gripping it loosely. 

When their lips brushed, Kenma opened his eyes again. Shouyou’s eyes were closed. They opened when their lips lost contact. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, able to hear how loud each other was breathing. Shouyou went back for another kiss, slightly firmer, but just as brief. 

Kenma instigated the next one, taking his hand off the floor to lightly cup Shouyou’s face and guide it back to his, to let Shouyou know he wanted this too. Shouyou let out an excited _mpf!_ sound as their lips touched again.

Kenma had never shared this kind of romantic physical intimacy with someone, nor had he even worried about _not_ sharing this kind of experience with anyone. He was surprised by how relaxed he felt right now. How much calmer he was now than seconds earlier. He wasn’t overwhelmed by this new experience, though he felt a prickling of something he had never quite felt before as Shouyou started picking up the pace between their kisses.

This was the first time he had kissed someone, and Kenma lost his breath with Shouyou’s urgency. Kenma raised his arm and gently pushed Shouyou back. 

Shouyou immediately moved out of Kenma’s space.

“Sorry, was that too much?” Shouyou asked concernedly. Kenma shook his head.

“No. I just needed a quick breather. I’ve, uh, I’ve never done that with anyone before.”

Shouyou blinked. “Wha, really?” An expression of worry flashed across his face. “That was OK for you though, right? That was . . . OK?”

Kenma nodded.

Shouyou actually started to look a little embarrassed. “So, uh, I guess we go back to playing games, then, huh? If you wanna?” he said, looking off the side, lightly scratching his cheek.

“Shouyou,” said Kenma, moving back closer to him.

“Yes?!” said Shouyou, looking tense.

“I’ve played that game already. I’d rather restart the kissing,” said Kenma flatly.

“OK! We can do, uh, that! You want, uh, me to take it slow, then?”

Kenma felt a little thrill at how Shouyou was now the nervous one. He reached up and lightly touched Shouyou’s face.

“Don’t you feel like you have to hold out on me, Shouyou. I told you,” he traced Shouyou’s bottom lip with his thumb, “I pick things up quickly.”


End file.
